Brian's Tale
by S. C. Hardy
Summary: Harry Potter knows what it's like to be depressed and forlorn, so how does he handle a situation with his nephew that is eerily alike, but much more dire? (From the Weasley's the Name Universe)


**Brian's Tale**

Harry Potter absolutely _hated _grading papers; he believed it was quite possibly _the_ most tedious job on the planet. Reading about a hundred papers on the same bloody subject was about as much fun as eating one of Hagrid's biscuits.

So when a soft knock interrupted his tirade through the essays on 'How to Keep Your Cool During a Full Moon,' Harry was immensely grateful. The raven-haired man trotted to the door, and to his surprise his nephew, Anthony Weasley, was standing outside.

"Er, hullo Professor," Anthony said, bowing his head slightly to avoid his uncle's gaze. Harry knew quite well that it was past curfew for the students, even Anthony's prefect badge couldn't get him out _this_ late. Something must definitely be wrong.

"What's a matter, Ant?" Harry asked, ushering the boy into the room. The redhead's eyes remained locked onto the ground and he wrung his hands together nervously.

"It's, well…Uncle Harry," Harry smirked; Anthony _never _called him that in the walls of Hogwarts, "I…I think I know something about someone, and I think that something is hurting that someone, but I don't know what to do and I don't know if I could tell on that someone, because then that someone would never talk to me again and I couldn't do that to that someone!"

Anthony had definitely inherited Hermione's genes for babbling.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down Anthony," Harry said with a reassuring grin. "If you think this…_something_ could hurt this _someone_, I suggest you tell me right now what's going on."

The redhead squirmed slightly, but finally looked up at his uncle, his blue eyes fearful.

"It's about Brian, I…I looked it up in some books, and I _think_ I'm right, but you can never be sure, I mean, but he's got _all _the symptoms--"

"_An_thony."

The Prefect's mouth fell open, realizing he was avoiding the situation, 

"I…I think he's depressed…like, _seriously_."

Harry frowned, taking a seat on his desk and crossing his arms across his chest. Brian Weasley was Fred Weasley's youngest son, also a fifth year Gryffindor. In all honesty, Harry _had _noticed a change in the boy's persona, but more obviously in his grades. The Defense Professor's eyes flicked over to the pile of papers, where somewhere inside, Brian had received a 'D' for dreadful.

"What makes you think that, Anthony?" Harry asked, not mentioning Brian's homework quality's sudden decline. The boy sat upon a desk and kicked his feet, clicking off his fingers the reasons he came to his conclusion,

"He's never asleep, he's always up before us and only goes to bed after one of the Prefects or I makes him. He doesn't eat—and you _know_ how Weasleys eat, and he's been _extremely_ agitated lately, the other day I asked him to borrow a quill and he snapped at me and told me to go…er, someplace _not_ good.

"And Jake's told me that he's missed four of the last five Quidditch practices, and you _know _how Brian loves Quidditch, Uncle Harry." Anthony frowned, taking in a deep breath. "And…and he sort of…" the redhead looked up, his face full of worry,

"He sort of _told_ me that he was depressed, I mean, he said it like it was a joke, but there was just something in his voice…"

Harry released a soft sigh, sliding off his desk. He wasn't sure what to do, but he knew Anthony came to the right person. If there was anyone who knew about being angry and depressed, The Boy Who Lived was it.

"Why'd you pick tonight, Ant?" Harry asked, putting the rest of the essays away into a file cabinet. "And how'd you get out here so late? I doubt that Prefect Badge was a free ticket past Filch."

The Professor watched Anthony blush out of the corner of his eye, and he grinned when the boy pulled out the Marauder's Map.

"When I went up to the dorms after patrols—I had late patrols tonight—Jacob told me that Brian disappeared after Quidditch practice and he hadn't seen him since."

"Do you know where he is now?"

Anthony nodded, unrolling the map.

"Er, he's in the Astronomy Tower…" the redhead frowned, "It's freezing tonight, Uncle Harry, and we haven't learned any decent full body heating charms yet, what if—"

"You're too good of a cousin." Anthony forced a laugh and slid out off the table as Harry shooed him away, "Go back to bed, I'll take care of Brian."

The Prefect nodded, but as he reached the door, he turned,

"Uncle—I mean, Professor?" Harry rolled his eyes and picked up an extra set of robes from the back of his chair. "Could you…er…_not_ tell Brian that I said something? He'll think I'm a chicken for telling…"

Harry stared down at the boy for a few seconds, but then nodded, ushering the boy away. As the Professor made his way towards the Astronomy Tower, he wondered if Anthony knew how truly brave he had been.

Harry was at the entrance to the Astronomy Tower a few minutes later, still amazed at the fact that he could walk around Hogwarts this late and_ not _get in trouble.

When he pushed the trapdoor open, he immediately heard a scramble, and caught a glimpse of Brian before he ducked behind Professor Sinistra's desk.

"It's me, Brian," he said, entering the Astronomy Tower. The clear sky overhead was breathtaking; the stars shone brightly and the crescent moon illuminated all the fields of Hogwarts.

He watched as a pair of green eyes appeared under a mop of brown hair, and Brian Weasley then stood up, looking utterly embarrassed.

For an almost sixteen year old, Brian was short, much shorter than Ron's two boys. He had grown stocky like his father Fred, with his broad shoulders and strong arms. As Beater for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Brian had filled out much faster than the other boys in his year, and it made him look quite different than his fellow fifth years.

"Hullo Professor," Brian said, his voice monotone. The light from the moon made his skin look a sickly white, the shadows creating large bags under his eyes. "I'll go back to the dorms right away, I'm sorry I was out."

"No…I think we're going to stay _here _for a little while," Harry said with a grin, making Brian's face contort into one of confusion. "C'mon Brian, pull up a chair and let's look at the stars."

The fifth year's gaze followed his uncle's movements, watching him pull up two chairs and set them in the middle of the floor. Harry took a seat and patted the other one, making Brian's feet twitch and quickly join his uncle.

When Brian was finally seated, Harry looked straight up at some of the stars, crossing his arms and leaning his chair back.

"So."

"So."

"What are you doing here, Brian?"

The boy opened his mouth, but he stopped whatever he was going to say and looked down at his clamped hands. Harry continued to watch him, not wanting to force him into anything; Harry remembered all too well having to do things he didn't want to do.

"I…I don't know," he finally answered, his shoulders slumping.

"It's a bit freezing up here, couldn't you think of a warmer place?" Harry said with a softly chuckle, unraveling his extra robe and tossing it over Brian's shoulders. "You got a 'D' on that last essay, Brian."

Brian turned to his uncle, his eyes wide. Harry had been going a bit easy on him, grading his paper's with A's and P's, but this had been one too many papers that hadn't been edited or researched; it looked to Harry as if Brian had scribbled it during breakfast that morning.

He watched as the boy looked back down at his hands, an angry glare flaring across his features.

"You can come after class if you need help."

"I don't need help," he retorted immediately.

"By the look of your last couple of essays? Yeah, I think you do." Harry smirked, turning his body towards his nephew. "What's going on with you, Wolfman?" He decided to use the nickname he created for Brian after Fred had dubbed his son Brian Wulfric. "I've come to expect a lot better from you…"

"There's _a lot_ of stuff going on," Brian mumbled, scrunching his shoulders. "There are the O.W.L.s this year, and Quidditch…"

"I heard you've been missing a lot of practices, lately."

"Well, not everyone can be a fantastic Quidditch player like Jacob." His tone was getting more agitated with each syllable, and Harry decided he might as well shoot for the inevitable.

"Brian, some people are worried about you."

His face shot up and towards his uncle faster than a Snitch disappears. Brian's eyes were blazed with fury, but there was also a slight sign of gratitude flickering in the pools of green.

"There's _nothing_ wrong with me."

"I think there is, Brian, and nothing you can say is going to make me think otherwise." Sometimes Harry hated being a Professor, but now he understood _why_ they said and did the things they did to him in school…he just wished he didn't have to do them himself.

Brian snapped away and stared at his shoes for quite a bit before Harry dared to move. The boy seemed like he was _seething_ with anger but didn't know what to do about it.

"Do you know how much it sucked not to be made Prefect?" Brian said softly, breaking through the silence of the night. "I mean; I _knew_ Anthony was going to get it, but it _sucked_."

Harry couldn't suppress the grin that slid onto his face, and he nodded, totally agreeing with Brian. He remembered quite clearly the agitation he felt when the Prefect Badge slipped out of Ron's letter and not _his_.

"And then Jake just _had_ to be in _my_ year, right?" Brian continued, slumping back into his seat, his short legs stretched out in front of him. "There's no _way _I could be Quidditch Captain _now_. I mean, hell, I _know _he's an amazing player, but _damn_."

"He's only been on the team for two years longer…" Harry tried, but Brian turned to him with a very doubtful look in his eyes. "You're a very important part of the team, you know that! And it's probably the coolest position; Beaters get to smash things and hurt people on _purpose_!"

"Yeah, but do _we_ ever have any posters in the stands? Do _we_ ever get carried on the shoulders of the fans? Of _course_ not, _we're_ stuck battling the bloody Bludgers into the ball case. There's no point in even _trying_."

"There's always a point, Brian."

The boy snorted and he was so hunched over that his chin was almost touching his collarbone.

"If you can find one for me, then maybe I'd think about agreeing with you."

Harry narrowed his emerald eyes, turning in his seat to face forward, looking pensive. It was one thing for a teenager to be extremely angry; wasn't that their right to be mad at the world? But it was something entirely different when they started to think there was no point to it all, like there was nothing to strive for. The Defense Professor frowned and watched his nephew out of the corner of his eye,

"What about that special girl?" Harry had a list of 'points' in his head, and maybe if he could get Brian comfortable with him, the boy would dive deeper into his pool of emotions. "Isn't she worth trying?"

"The only girl that has ever shown the slightest bit of interest—" he stopped, blushing furiously. "Shut it, Professor," he said with a soft laugh.

Harry grinned; he was getting somewhere,

"C'_mon_ Wolfman! Who is she? Gryffindor? _Slytherin?_" Harry waggled his eyebrows at the prospect of a girl from his rival House, "You know how _ambitious_ those Slytherin girls are…"

"Uncle _Harry_!" Brian shouted, his mouth and eyes wide with laughter. He looked back down at his hands, trying to hide a smile. "She…she's in Ravenclaw."

"Ooh, she's got brains."

Brian let a smile slip through his petulant countenance, and Harry knew he had chosen the right 'point'.

"Yeah…it's…it's the Prefect, Sarah."

Harry nodded knowingly, already having eliminated three of the four fifth year Ravenclaw girls as potential prospects for Brian, Sarah Lee being the remaining girl. The boy looked as he was ready to say more, but quite suddenly his almost pleasant expression dissolved into one of loss and anger.

"She'd never want to go out with me, though, she probably thinks I'm stupid or something."

The Professor had to use an enormous batch of self-control to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

"Why on earth would she think you were stupid? Have you ever done anything to make her think that?"

Brian frowned and shook his head, but he obviously didn't look convinced. Harry opened his mouth to continue telling the boy how wrong he was, but Brian cut him off,

"It's just that…I've tried so bloody hard for so long and nothing ever gets accomplished!" He stood up, throwing his arms down to his side. "It's like, hell! Why _try_? It's not as if anyone's going to notice I've done anything!" Brian whirled around, his green eyes staring angrily at the ground, his hands moving in wild gesticulations,

"Who the hell is going to care about a nobody that's never done anything in his life?"

"Brian, _plenty_ of people care about you!" Harry's open mouth gaped at the boy; how could he, a _Weasley,_ think that no one cared? That's all that family _did_! "You _know_ how your family adores you!"

He choked out an irritated laugh, shaking his head furiously,

"Yeah, that seventh year berk of a brother who hasn't said a damn word to me in the past five months because he's a bloody _legal_ wizard now, and all of a sudden he thinks he can actually _do_ magic."

"Bri—"

"And are my parents any better? _My_ parents?" Brian interrupted with a sadistic laugh, throwing his arms up and covering his eyes. "Mum's never home because of her bloody Quidditch team and I only see Dad during the summer holiday because he just _can't_ take time off from the many shops he owns to see his kids, of _course not_! Blow something up to make us all laugh and that's _all _it takes to make everything better."

Harry sat dumbstruck at the outburst, his green eyes wide with utter amazement. Fred and Angelina were quite busy with their separate careers, but at family gatherings that part of the Weasley clan were always some of the loudest…except, now that Harry thought about it, Brian, who was usually taking the brunt of his brother's jokes. ****

"Not every family is perfect, I'm sure if you just bring the subject up--"

"Grandma Weasley forgot to send me a jumper last Christmas."

His voice was the complete antithesis of what it had been during the rant he had just finished. Harry cringed at the memory remembering how furious Fred had been when he realized that only his son had not received a sweater, even though Fred had never really paid no mind to them. It wasn't anything personal; it was just that there had been _many _sweaters to knit.

"You know she didn't mean to, it was an accident. You got yours afterwards," Harry quickly responded. But it was too late; Brian had turned away, slowly heading towards the edge of the Tower, where the telescopes stood.

He leaned his elbows on the ledge, peering off into the Forbidden Forest. Harry joined him quietly, positioning himself exactly like his nephew. Brian's profile was full of despair, and his green eyes shone with something that looked like fear. His shoulders rose heavily as he took deeper breaths.

"I joked to Anthony, once," the boy said softly, his eyes closed, "said I'd throw myself off the Astronomy Tower if one more person told me I looked like shit." Brian opened his eyes and looked down at his hands, biting his lip. "He went off about these charms that'll slow you down if you _do_ fall off the Tower, got all nervous and stuff."

Harry released a long breath, not looking at Brian, but at the treetops of the forest he had entered so many times. He knew that just listening was helping his nephew much more than anything recently, but there was that urge to say something, to _do_ something that Harry couldn't get rid of. _It's that hero-complex_, he thought with a smirk at Hermione.

"It's not true, you know."

The Professor slowly turned his head towards the fifth year, realizing for the first time that it wasn't the moonlight that was casting the eerie glow on Brian's skin. He was scarily pale all on his own.

"What's not true?" Harry asked quietly. Brian shrugged slightly, retreating into himself.

"The charms on the Tower…there aren't any."

"You tested to see if it was true?" Harry's voice grew slightly angry, but he hoped that his nephew took it more as concern. "Why—why would you need to do that?"

"I wasn't going to do anything!" Brian protested, turning away, putting his hand on one of the telescopes.

"You wouldn't have tested it unless you were interested, Brian, _look at me_!"

"Why would I throw myself off the Tower when I've chickened out of everything else I've tried?" the boy shrieked.

It took a moment for the words to hit the two that were standing on the Astronomy Tower, and when it did, the reactions were almost identical. Harry's stance faltered, and he put his hand to his heart, his green eyes wide with astonishment.

Brian's face paled even whiter than it had been, and he blanched, his shoulders hunching and he put a hand to face, putting the other out as if looking for some balance.

Harry jumped in surprise as his nephew suddenly spun around and thrashed out his arms, sending a telescope soaring across the Tower and over the edge.

Harry's heart burned at the thought of his nephew trying to hurt himself, but for the simple fact that he hadn't gotten any help before he had been reduced to…to _that_. He felt like a horrible uncle, like a horrible Professor—his job was not only to educate, but also to help the students grow into wizards who were going to change the world…

There was a glimmer of hope, though. Brian had said that he had chickened out of anything he'd tried, that meant he didn't _really _want to hurt himself, that he didn't know what to do, that he was still waiting for someone to come and help him.

"I haven't slept in days, Uncle Harry." ****

The boy's breathing was heavy, and he didn't flinch when a light rain started to fall. His head was bowed and his shoulders shook without control. Slowly, he brought his hands up to his face, and an audible cry was heard through his fingers and the pattering of the rain.

"Wolfman--" Harry said softly, and with two steps he had wrapped his nephew up in a tight hug, letting the boy sob into his chest.

It was a good ten minutes before Harry decided to lead Brian down to the Hospital Wing, the cold he had withstood in the night and then the added rain couldn't be healthy, and Madame Pomfrey would surely have his head if he didn't.

The patron unsurprisingly fretted over the fifth year, scolding Harry for letting his stay out in the cold for so long, but not bothering to compliment him on his perfect drying spells. The rants stopped, however, when Brian fell right to sleep on the nearest bed without a potion, and Harry conjured up a lie about Brian having a really high fever ("Like…_really _high, Madame Pomfrey…_really_!")

Madame Pomfrey set off like the busy bee she was and she performed spells and grimaced when she had to wake Brian up to take some of the healing potions.

Harry stood at the end of his nephew's bed, watching as the boy tiredly did everything the patron said, his eyes a dull green. He waited until every last drop of potion was taken and didn't move until Brian's eyes had drooped shut. The Defense Professor's shoulders were slumped greatly and he sat in a chair near the foot of the bed. Harry fell asleep in that chair, not daring to leave his nephew alone.

When Brian woke, he was startled to see that he wasn't surrounded by the curtains of his four-poster, but by the anxious faces of his roommates and family.

"Oy, thank Merlin you're up!" his mother, Angelina Johnson-Weasley exclaimed, running a worried hand through her son's hair. His green eyes were wide with amazement as he counted the number of people around and it summed up to be at least ten.

"What're you all doin' here?" he asked, his voice scratchy.

Fred Weasley shook his head, tossing a bag of chocolate frogs onto his son's lap,

"_Brian_! You had a hundred and seven fever! Throwing up and all that nonsense! When Harry told us you had come down with some rare case of Toweritis, I nearly wet myself!"

"T-toweritis?" the bedridden boy asked quietly.

Professor Potter broke through the crowd, looking very serious,

"You know, that disease young men catch when they allow mold from a tower to seep into their blood? You had a nasty cut on your hand, that must've been what happened." The Defense Professor winked quickly, making Brian realize quickly that his uncle had covered up for him.

The boy's mouth went slightly slack and his expression contorted into a cross between amusement and disbelief. Because of a quick lie, Brian knew that his secret hadn't been told.

His older brother, George, ruffled his hair, a wicked grin on his face,

"You gave us quite a scare, good thing Professor Potter found you when he did, or else I would've killed you myself."

His cousins each gave a warm greeting, and his dorm mates had also joined the crowd. Anthony told him not to worry about homework and his twin Jacob said that the Quidditch captain had said it was fine for him to miss a couple more practices.

When all the hellos were finally over, the people filtered out, Brian's parents leaving with warm and tight hugs, promising to send him anything he requested, even if it was their presence. George demanded a pickup Quidditch game, and soon Brian was left alone to rest, the curtains drawn around his bed.

He stared up at the white ceiling, not exactly happy with the turnout of guests. He _was _glad that they showed up, but a voice in the back of his mind kept whispering that they were there just for show. Brian ignored it for a bit, rather willing to relish in the fact that his family had stretched their arms wide for him and actually cared.

He'd have to thank Uncle Harry for that. Brian was sure when he told (because he'd have to tell, someday) his parents why he was _really _in the Hospital Wing, he wouldn't have gotten such a warm reception.

…but that was for a later day, and for now, he wanted to sleep for a long time and force himself to try and become the Brian his family knows and loves.

The curtains swished, and he cracked one green eye open. Sucking in a breath he quickly sat up, patting his hair down furiously.

Sarah Lee, Ravenclaw Prefect, timidly poked her head into his curtained in area. She sent him a sheepish grin that Brian returned. The girl took his smile as an invitation and she walked towards him, her hand pushing some hair behind her ear.

"I thought I'd wait until your family left, didn't want to bother."

"S'alright."

Her eyes darted around, her arms crossed.

"So…how are you feeling? Anthony told me you were really sick."

"Er…yeah. Toweritis."

Her narrow eyes disappeared as she glared at him. Brian suddenly felt _really _sick. He gulped, his shoulders tense as he found a thread in his blanket quite interesting. _Why on Earth is she here?_

"There's no such thing as _Toweritis_."

"Look Sarah, I don't need any of your perfect prefect gibberish, alright? I feel like crap, I want to rest, I don't need—"

"Shut _up_."

His eyes snapped back up at her and her lips were almost as narrow as her eyes.

"Brian, I don't know what you did, but I swear," she stormed to him, putting a stern finger to the tip of his nose, "if I find out you did _anything_, I will take care of you _myself_!"

She stood rigid, as if keeping her finger between his eyes was going to further her point. Brian wasn't sure how she knew what he had been going through; he must've been really obvious. Why did she care, though? Did she like him? Was she a friend he didn't know he had? What had caused her sudden appearance?

His green eyes had already crossed a few times, and when he was finally able to focus on her again, he raised a single eyebrow in interest,

"You promise?"

He could've said it nicely, but he decided to bother her, _again_. His voice had been filled with something a bit sexual and Sarah immediately blushed and shrieked, spinning around and storming off. Her obvious frazzled reaction had been quite worth her quick exit, the boy supposed.

Brian watched as the curtains swished to a stop. With a content sigh, he fell back against his pillows, the remaining worries of his life taking a backseat to the dreams of a certain Ravenclaw Prefect he was about to have.

**A/N:** If you think you or one of your friends is depressed, there are many ways to help the situation. Talk to them, tell an adult or someone who can help.   
  
Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.


End file.
